


Stormy Weather

by Bunkerbash



Category: Trolls (Movies 2016 2020)
Genre: Broppy - Freeform, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 11:15:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28724190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bunkerbash/pseuds/Bunkerbash
Comments: 6
Kudos: 12





	Stormy Weather

The early June air sat velvety fat across the woodland, humid-heavy and sticky with the promise of an impending storm. Even just inches above the leaf-mold, it was hotter than Hades. Branch stood up from his work, trying in vain to stretch a kink from his lower back. He dragged his forearm across his face, attempting to wipe off some of the sweat but only succeeding in mixing it with the dirt from his arm. He’d been digging row upon row for a massive new village vegetable garden since sunrise, and now, as the baking afternoon slouched towards dusk, he was finding his strength and focus begin to wane. Gazing out across the thirty some odd tidy trenches he’d already dug, he thought longingly of the coolness and solitude of his bunker, all the way on the other side of the obnoxiously named ‘Happy Slappy River’, back across the field, and up the hill. In his exhausted state, the trek alone sounded torturous, and he was damn-determined to finish one more row before he quit for the day.

  
“And miles to go before I sleep…” he muttered under his breath, before swigging some lukewarm water from his canteen and squinting the other direction, towards the village, and the blistering sun, just now lolling down the horizon to bury itself in the verdant treetops. He was about to turn away, back towards his onerous task, when a bright pink head bobbed into view.

  
“Poppy”. He breathed her name, and it felt far more refreshing on his tongue than the stale water had. His stomach did the familiar strange swoop that it had done every time he’d seen her, hell every time he’d thought of her for the last three years. Somewhere between fear and exhilaration, being near Poppy was like cliff diving.

  
Branch bent back down, vigorously working the hot, dry earth in front of him, and maybe, just maybe, flexing his tired arms a little more than necessary as he watched Poppy’s approach out of the corner of his eye. She was singing, of course she was, some weird new dance song he didn’t recognize, but his ears twitched towards her voice regardless, he loved to hear her sing, he always had, and now that the Bergens were no longer a threat, were unbelievably now their allies, he could enjoy that pure voice so much more. The thick air seemed to be muting her a bit though, and when he finally gave up the ghost and turned to face her, leaning most of his weight on his shovel, he saw she looked a bit wilted.  
As soon as their eyes met Poppy stopped singing and grinned from ear to ear. She was sweating too, and it gave her face an appealing flush and glisten, but her hair was a mess, drooping in its pony tail in lanky bunches, and with a twig sticking out halfway up that Branch was almost certain was not an intentional accessory. Her blue dress was also smeared with mud at the hip and hem. Branch smirked and arched an eyebrow at her, she was delightfully unkempt.

  
Poppy was gazing with similar amusement at him, biting against a laugh at the massive streak of mud that ran from his left temple to his chin, like sloppy war paint. Did he know? Should she tell him? But Branch saw her lingering gaze and immediately remembered the mud, the sweat, he hastily turned and tried to scrub his face. Now, Poppy did laugh, gasping a bit from the hike up the hill to the garden. The more she giggled, the more Branch fervently tried to rub the mud off his face, until he finally admitted defeat and sat heavily on the ground, elbows on knees, chin in hands, and looked up at her, a playful scowl on his mud-streaked face.

  
Poppy primly placed her basket on the ground and neatly sat across from him.  
“I mean, I must look just as bad” she grinned.

“Well I don’t know how bad I look, but yes… you do.” Branch replied tartly.

  
Humor danced in Poppy’s eyes and she leaned in, reaching towards Branch’s disheveled stack of indigo-iridescent hair. “You, just, you have a bunch of...” she frowned and retracted her hand a bit “Is… are you using mud or manure in these rows right now…?”

  
Branch batted at her hand as she reached towards him, trying hard not to giggle himself “Keep…keep your hands to yourself, thank you, and you know I’m just digging trenches, no manure, yet.” But Poppy dodged and reached back towards him, she was now shockingly close, and Branch held his breath. “In that case, you have a clod of dirt just here, and I cannot imagine how you didn’t feel it”. She picked a considerable piece of caked mud out of his hair and tossed it aside. For just a moment she paused, inches from his face, the heat of the day, the heat of their faces almost searing. Branch tried to think, but by the time he’d formed a clear thought the moment had passed, Poppy moving back and away, her expression unreadable under her sagging explosion of fuschia hair.

  
Looking towards the furrowed ground, Branch cursed himself silently. Sure, facing a Bergen with nothing but a spork to defend you, no problem. Almost being eat by the King of the Bergens, basically bearable; Actually kissing the girl you’ve pined for non-stop for ages, apparently impossible.  
Poppy, chastising herself in almost verbatim the same manner was fidgeting with her basket, and sweating. Egad she was sweating, so terribly hot, did he notice she was sweating? Did he maybe not kiss her because she smelled? She ducked her chin to surreptitiously sniff herself.  
"So um… I picked like a zillion berries today!“ She announced, the silence becoming squirmingly unbearable. "Like, every berry. There are officially zero berries left in the forest!”

  
Branch tried to recover his bravado “Oh yea, I… that’s not possible, Poppy’. He said teasingly, but his voice felt both tight and hollow all at once.  
Poppy soldiered on, "Nope, go check, not one left…that probably means I win a trophy or something. Berry Picker of the Year” she finished lamely. And on that note she hoisted herself back up off the dusty ground and tried and failed to shake some of the dirt of her dress. Branch rose too, suddenly far more exhausted than he’d been five minutes before. The air still zinged with electricity, but it seemed like the sun had gone. Actually…  
He craned his neck up towards the western horizon, above the village of brightly hung pods and string lights, above the massive trees that stood like guardians around the little clearing, a black mass of a storm was now looming, it’s anvil top even now towering towards the field in which they stood.

  
Ch. 2  
Poppy suddenly shivered and glanced up at the sky too. “Finally” she proclaimed, “Good gravy we needed the rain, never seen it so dry this early in the year.”

  
Branch bit his lip and looked sullenly at all the newly dug rows, “Yea, but shoot, I would have liked to have gotten these seeded before it came. It’ll be a muddy disaster by morning!”

  
Her good humor returning like a moth to a flame, Poppy shrugged and hoisted her berry basket higher on her shoulder. “It’ll be fiiiiiine”, she soothed. “Things always work out!”

  
Branch was about to disagree, but the rather sharp retort died on his lips at a dull flash of light and then a distant purr of thunder off to the west. “I should get going Poppy, I think it’s gonna be a heck of a storm, and you should head straight home too, no skipping, or flower picking…or…lolly gagging.”

  
Poppy rolled her eyes and snorted, “Lolly gagging?! Do you even know what that means?”  
But Branch suddenly felt unsettled, he glanced back up at the sky, which was now roiling, unpleasantly active. “I’m serious Poppy. I think it’s gonna be bad pretty quickly. I’ll…I’ll see you later, ok?”.

  
Poppy cut her eyes at him, in a way that made it clear that if she wanted to skip, pick wild flowers, OR lolly gag, neither he nor storm would stop her. “Sure, bye.” She turned on her heel, and stomped back through the sun-baked field, the storm hovering above her.

  
Ignoring his own sage advice Branch watched her go until she was no more than a pink spark against an ink black tempest. He knew he needed to leave, felt his common sense trying to haul him away from his planted spot on the field, but he was hopelessly frozen. He’d screwed up, again. Like that time he’d thrown her guitar in the fire, like that time he’d told her he couldn’t believe she’d be Queen someday. He.just.kept.screwing up. Probably it was for the best, meant to be. He didn’t deserve her, royalty, absurdly beautiful, and kind, and smart, and so good with all the other trolls. She always knew the right thing to say to make them feel better. To make him feel better.

  
He’d told her he loved her, in the pot, when he thought “Well crap, we’re going to die, so now or never.” And she’d said it back, or sang it back at least. They hadn’t died, thanks entirely to her. But where did that leave them now, months later. If he were to be entirely frank, he’d heard Poppy tell three people she loved them that day. One was him, one was Bridget the Bergen, and one was her father. Now he knew what she meant when she’d told her father she loved him. AND Bridget, was her official, for life, forever and ever EVERRRRR (direct Poppy quote) bestie. So what did that make him. Poppy had so much love in her heart. She loved all her friends. She loved mornings, and night time, the stars, flowers, trees, rivers, mushrooms, glow worms, caterpillars, singing, dancing, hugging, surprises, secrets, slumber parties, new dresses, playing cards, cart wheels, each season, every day of the week. In fact, in the months from Winter to this interminably hot late Spring, Branch had only discovered one thing that Poppy didn’t love, and that was play-doh, which Poppy said “squished the wrong way”, and thusly terrified her.

  
Branch didn’t even know the right question to ask Poppy to suss out a concrete answer. It was all so dratted frustrating. And so he stayed, cemented, alone next to the 32nd trench in the new vegetable field, staring at the now Poppyless horizon and trying to will the world or his mind, to make this even infinitesimally easier.

  
****  
Poppy ate a third berry. They were a little under ripe and sour. She shouldn’t have picked so many, it was impulsive, but she’d gotten carried away. Classic Poppy, she thought bitterly, the acid sweet taste of the berry tightening her throat. She remembered Branch’s face for the tenth time on this ten minute walk. He’d been so close, wonderfully close, and his blue eyes had looked at her so steadily. He’d been smiling. She’d BEEN SURE HER WOULD KISS HER. But nah. Again. Maybe it was her that couldn’t take the hint. Maybe she was just throwing herself at a brick wall, over and over again, hoping for yield that would never come. He seemed so much more reachable now, and yet…try as she might, reaching out, hiking up that damn mountain today, just to blather on about the berries she’d picked (oh god, “Berry Picker of Year”?! what had she been thinking), still he remained enragingly immobile. She was starting to feel foolish. Maybe he hadn’t meant it when he’d said he loved her, five months ago, in a pot, before their entire species was eaten. Yes, of course he didn’t mean it. People did stupid stuff when they panicked, and now she was just making an ass of herself.  
Poppy stopped her fevered pace down the hill and looked out across her village. She didn’t want to go home, where it was lonely and pink, and there was glitter everywhere. Just… just one more run at the brick wall, before the storm comes. She tucked her basket of berries under a bush by the path, and started galloping back up the hill towards the vegetable path, the growing wind now whipping her sweaty hair around her face. Damn him, now or never. She picked up her pace.

  
Ch.3  
Lightening leapt from the sky, splintering a tree and sending shards of molten maple in every direction. The thunder clap took the entire valley by the shoulders and shook it bodily. Branch’s self-reproaching trance was finally broken. He gathered up his tools and ran towards the little lean-to shed he’d built from scrap wood the week before. The first few rain drops were splattering against his hair and back as he hastily shoved the hoe, shovel, and rake inside the shed. He crammed his canteen into his olive-green rucksack and swung it unto his shoulder, wincing a bit at how the movement made his sore muscles sting. The rain was now pelting down and the thunder an almost consistent throaty undertone. He’d waited too long, the journey home would not be an easy one.

  
Branch had just reached the edge of the field when he heard a shout, his name? And he knew the voice. Oh gods, what was she, MAD?! He stopped and turned, holding his hand over his eyes to block the driving drops of rain, the size of his fist. Indeed she was mad, pink head down, eyes blazing, hands clenched, Poppy was darting towards him through sheets of rain, and she looked hard set on something. In this storm, Branch assumed it was getting herself struck by lightning.  
Branch ran towards Poppy, jumping over the ruts of the field until they were face to face, the wind and rain whirling around them and almost through them.

  
“Are. You. CRAZY?!” Branch shouted.  
“No!!!” Poppy Retorted with conviction. And then without another word she grabbed his hand firmly and began hauling him back the direction she came, down the hill, and towards the village, away from his bunker.

  
“But… But, Poppy, I have to…” Branch sputtered indignantly but entirely ineffectively. She neither slowed her pace or looked at him. She simply set her mouth, tightened her grip on his hand, and kept going.

  
Branch wasn’t one to be led, and certainly not in a direction not of his choosing. Any minute now he was going to put his foot down. He was in fact finding it increasingly hard to put his foot down, as the rain cascaded down the hillside in rivulets, pooling in the once cracked dry divets of earth, forming ice slick skids of mud. As his foot hit one such slick he started careening quickly down until Poppy braced herself and hauled him upright. “Thanks”, he said, but she didn’t turn towards him. “THANKS!!!” He tried again, pitching his voice over the now screaming storm, she glanced over at him and nodded tersely. He had no idea what it was she had in store for him, but the storm was looking less and less threatening by comparison.  
And so it was that they slid and stumbled, down the hill, through the center of the village and to the peach colored stairs that led up a story to Poppy’s hot pink pod. Branch, finally finding his footing and his backbone snatched his hand back from her and turned, shoulder’s hunched against the rain, to face her, eyebrow’s drawn.

  
“Ok, so, you’ve brought me to your pod, Why, I CANNOT imagine. What exactly do you want, Poppy??” He shoved his hands in his pockets, immediately regretting his words, AND his tone, gods help him.

  
Poppy hesitated. They were both drenched and her bangs were sticking to her forehead. Her blue calico dress was also sodden and clinging to her, which Branch noticed and then tried very very hard to un-notice. Poppy looked up at Branch, but he now seemed to be trying very hard to look at everything but her. “Do you want to come in for a cup of coffee??” She said to his right cheek, as he was staring hard towards the center of the village.  
“Really??!” Branch asked, his surprise pulling his gaze back to her face.

  
“But you don’t drink coffee!” He shouted over the rain, trying to push some of his hair out of his face after a strong gust of wind smacked half of it into his eyes.

  
"Yes but I got some because I know you like it!“ Poppy screamed back at him, wondering how the heck he knew she didn’t like coffee.  
Branch wondered why the heck she knew he liked coffee AND why she had bought some, but then just shrugged. This would play out however it must, and either way a steady stream of rain was now snaking down his chest and into his boxers, and it really was time to seek shelter somewhere for goodness sake. As if in affirmation, another massive fork of lightening danced down from the sky and struck somewhere up near the vegetable field.

  
Ch.4  
Branch remembered vividly his anxiety at finally climbing up out of the center of the Troll Tree and looking out across Bergen Town. An absolute unknown upon which he had dwelled, eerily fascinated for untold hours, and then suddenly revealed to him. He entered Poppy’s pod with similar trepidation. It was… very bright. And sparkly. And at least thirty different shades of pink. He’d never really considered before that there was more than ONE shade of pink which was probably about Poppy pink, regular pink? But here before him were rhubarbs, salmons, shrimps, blushes, fuschias, magentas, roses, raspberries, strawberries, hot pinks, cold pinks, in-between room temperature pinks that definitely had fancy names that he hoped sincerely never to have occasion to know. He stood dumfounded and dripping on the viciously floral welcome mat while Poppy hovered at his elbow, somewhat nervously shifting her weight from foot to foot.

  
"Um.” She offered uncertainly. Branch unconsciously smiled. Poppy, at a loss for words. When was Poppy ever at a loss for words. Maybe he wasn’t the only one paralyzed by nerves.

  
Falling back on her go-to enthusiasm, Poppy launched herself into the hallway, wrenched open a door, grabbed a towel from within and flung it at Branch. “Right so, dry off, I’ll uh…I’ll make coffee, or tea. or. Um. You… You wouldn’t want a bit of whiskey would you?” She offered, her eyes going wide as she suddenly realized which one she really wanted.

  
Branch tried to dry off his face without getting too much mud on the coral hued towel. “Whiskey would be wonderful”.

  
Leaving Branch to make do with his now muddy towel in the entry way, Poppy zipped off to her bedroom, first. Quick clean off, scrambled change of clothes, more deodorant, she was relieved to note she hadn’t smelled bad at all, but just in case, bit of her good perfume, ok just a little mascara… and some lip gloss, don’t get carried away. Well alright, comb the hair or, ok it’s too tangled, fluff it a bit, that’s cute right?? Bedraggled chic?  
She slid into the kitchen through an adjoining door and fixed two bubblegum hued cut glass tumblers of whiskey on ice, the good stuff that her father had given her for her 21st birthday. What the hell.

  
Poppy walked carefully out of the kitchen, balancing the drinks on a glittery tray, to find Branch, much less muddy, trying to hide a very muddy once-coral towel in the umbrella stand. He froze when he heard the clink of the glasses.  
"Just uh…got some mud on this um, this thing, and trying to clean it off" He scrubbed industriously at the umbrella stand his head down, but not far enough to hide the hot flush of his face.

  
Poppy clicked her tongue, “Ack Branch! That umbrella stand is a treasured heirloom, a gift from my great aunt Sachrina!” Branch blanched, stopped scrubbed and looked up at her his eyes wide.

  
“Oh no, I’m so sorry, Poppy, I didn’t know. I didn’t actually get any mud on it, I swear, I was just trying to hide this towel cause, I did get mud on it, a lot.” He offered the towel to her, his hand shaking a bit.

  
"What?! THAT TOWEL was a gift from my grandfather Papsy, it was the only thing I had to remember him by!!“  
Branch’s face fell, impossibly, farther.

  
Realizing she’d gone too far Poppy swooped in, drinks and tray tinkling, to put her spare hand on his shoulder, "Kidding! I was kidding, I’m sorry. Do you want a drink?”

  
"Desperately" Branch closed his eyes and replied. As always, being near Poppy was like cliff diving.

  
Ch. 5  
The ice clinked happily in the the tacky pink tumblers. Outside the storm shrieked, seeming to grow in intensity. Poppy and Branch danced around subjects. The new vegetable patch, upcoming holidays, where he’d stored all the artillery originally on the second level of his bunker. They talked a bit about their trip to the Bergens, but when the conversation veered dangerously close to the cooking pot, to that time they had danced like there was no tomorrow, they both sipped heartily on the whiskey and looked in opposite directions.

  
The warmth of the liquor felt lovely, but Branch was intensely aware that his rain damp clothes might be ruining the upholstery of Poppy’s watermelon pink velvet settee. His nerves were eating away at him, and he fidgeted, tugging at the hem of his shorts, scuffing his feet through the deep carpet pile. At one point, as they laughed about that insane cloud guy, Poppy put her hand on Branch’s knee. “Kiss her. KKKISSSS HER NOW NOW NOW” his brain screamed, while also screaming “Nooooo, You’re just friends, she just wants to be friends, don’t make it weird, or you’ll have to go back to your bunker and no one will ever talk to you again!” Branch wondered if that might just be easier. He compromised by putting his hand on top of her hand and giving it what he hoped was an encouraging but entirely neutral, inoffensive squeeze. After a moment Poppy took a deep breath and took her hand away to lift the whiskey decanter in offer.

  
Knowing he’d screwed up yet again, Branch shook his head. “Uh no, it seems like the weather is getting better and I should…should get going. Thanks for the booze though. This was…nice?”

  
Poppy smiled at him warmly but he could see there wasn’t much faith behind it. She stood and looked out the window. It was still pouring, still thundering, still windy. “Are you…sure? It’s still pretty bad out there…”

  
But Branch was already hustling towards the door, hating himself for bungling this biggest chance for…something, whatever it was, once more. His face felt hot, and not from whiskey. “Yea no, I’m fine, been alone for twenty years, I’m sure I can make it back to my bunker on my own.” He felt the bite of bitterness sneak into his words and turned towards the door, anxious to leave what was quickly becoming a dumpster fire of a date or, had it even been a date?

  
"Alright well, will you call me when you get there? Just, you know, so I know you made it ok?“ Poppy reached out and took his hand, it was cold, but he squeezed hers back firmly and smiled at her.

  
"I promise” Branch said, and with whoosh of wind, and a spattering of rain the door was open and he was gone into the dark of the howling storm.

  
Ch. 6  
The Happy Slappy River, was not, in fact, a river at all. It wasn’t even a stream, though after a good rainy day sometimes it would swell enough that the most athletic troll couldn’t leap across it and be certain they wouldn’t get their toes wet. For the most part and for the majority of the year, however, it was a series of tiered puddles only barely link by the laziest trickle.

  
One summer, when Branch was eighteen and feeling especially restless he’d wandered all the way up the Happy Slappy, to the foot of the mountains, and then up their steep crags, where there was still azure-blue glaciers that summer ignored, and the air was sharp with the tang of pine resin and granite. He’d stayed for a week, he conviction that he should just stay up there, and leave all those singing, dancing fools below to their own devices, slowly crumbling as the solitude crept into his bones and behind his eyes. He liked quiet spaces, he liked peace, but when he started talking to a rock he’d named Steve, he knew it was time to go back. Probably he’d be a hermit someday, but apparently not yet.

  
When he’d gotten most of the way back, maybe a day’s trek outside the village he’d found a very determined 12 year old Poppy, and a very reluctant twin set of Satin and Chenille hiking out, trying to find him. Poppy had stuck out her lower lip and shouted at him that they were all worried he’d been eaten or fallen in a hole. Satin and Chenille had rolled their eyes in unison, and Branch, for his part, had shouted at all three about wandering off on their own, didn’t they know how stupid and risky it was, they could have stumbled unto a Bergen and been eaten! He’d heard Poppy sniffling and seen her wiping her eyes a few times on the way back, and had worried he’d been too hard on them. Truth be told, he’d been amazed anyone had even noticed he was gone, every now and then catching a glimpse of his own bemused reflection in one of the Happy Slappy’s innumerable fetid pools.  
It was with significant shock that Branch now first registered the roaring of water as he hiked home. His ears twitched, it was coming from the other side of the hill, from the little gully over which the red wooden bridge arched, and the little streams and splashes of the Happy Slappy tamely snaked. As he came squelching to the top of the hill the view below, through the sheets stinging rain was wholly alien. Where the Happy Slappy had been there was now a churning swirling torrent of frothy gray water. The bridge was gone, which was no surprise because the water must have been five feet above where the top of the handrail once stood. Branch gaped, somehow it was eerily beautiful, in a way only angry water can be. Then through the roar, and the wind, and the rain, he heard another sound, one that sent shivers down his back- a voice, weakly calling for help.

  
In an instant Branch was sliding down the steep incline of the hill. Somewhere on this side there were stairs cut in the turf, but he’d never find them in the dark. He tumbled and fell, got up and kept sprinting, turning his head trying to hear where the voice was coming from. As he got near the bottom, near the water’s edge, for the gentle plain of the valley had now been fully engulfed, he heard the voice again, distinctive in its auto-tuning.  
“Guy?!” Branch shouted, uncertain which way to run, trying frantically now to keep his balance on the steep shoulder of the hill and not fall into the raging water himself. “GUUYYYY????”

  
“Help.” He heard it again and slipping and tripping on a bramble he saw something through the murky dark, a silver sparkle just on the edge of the water, near what looked like a pile of logs. Running towards the silver glint Branch realized it was the ruins of the bridge to which Guy Diamond was now desperately clinging.

  
“Oh God! Guy, here wait, hang on, lemme just.” Branch tried to use his hair, to grab something, anything, to give him leverage, but it was soaking wet, useless, just hair, worse, it was hanging over his face, making it even harder to see. He crawled across the timbers, until he could see no more bank, just water below. The whole loose network of splintered timber trembled from his weight and the force of the water below. He shimmied the last bit on his stomach and grabbed for Guy, who’s eyes were blank with fear.

  
“Branch!” he gasped “The bridge, the bridge collapsed!” Guy was looking about madly, clinging to the wreckage, but barely, sticks and other debris kept getting caught in his hair, dragging him further and further down.

  
Branch grabbed for him, but he couldn’t get a proper grasp, the frothing force of the water working against him, pulling Guy down and sucking him towards the center of the flood. And then the wreckage of the bridge gave way and they were both in the water. Branch felt his head go under and briefly lost sense of which way was up as he spun and spun. He felt something hard collide with his side, one of the bridge supports, perhaps, and then something else collided with him, warmer than the ice blackness of the water trying to swallow him whole. He hooked an arm around this mass, and kicked up, hoping up was indeed up, he still wasn’t sure. His head broke the surface and he swung out his free arm, frantically scrambling to gain purchase on anything. a tree limb rolled towards them on the water and he grabbed for it. His weight, and that of Guy Diamond, who’s elbow he clung to, swung the limb around and it wedged itself, at least for the moment, against the rocky side of the gully. Using every ounce of strength he had, Branch dragged them both along the length of the tree, towards the shore. Guy was dead weight, and Branch willed himself to think he had just been knocked unconscious. He couldn’t be dead. No. NO.  
But dread and the bitter cold were now working in tand

em, threading insidious numbing fingers up from his feet and hands. A large wave of water smacked the back of Branch’s head, and he thought he’d lost his grip on Guy until he realized Guy was now clinging to his hair, which hurt like hell, but at least Guy wasn’t dead, and wasn’t giving up. Branch leaned out and grabbed Guy more firmly around the waist and then inch by agonizing frigid inch he clawed along the rough soaking bark of the tree limb. When he reached the shore he was just able to grip on to the steep rocky wall to haul himself out, but try as he might, he just couldn’t lug Guy out too. Branch struggled and strained, his legs digging mucky tracks in the ground, with each attempt his strength ebbed and his purchase on the incline decreased.

  
Finally, gasping, Branch leaned down, and tightened his grip on Guy. Guy, for his part, was conscious once more, he looked up at Branch, his eyes wild and pleading. “Just, HOLD ON Guy!” Branch shouted to be heard over the water’s roar. Guy was submerged up to his shoulders, and shivering violently, but he closed his eyes, set his mouth, and nodded his head. His grip on Branch’s arms tightened almost imperceptibly Neither one of them was going to give up yet. And so they waited for a change in their fate, alone in the pelting rain, as the water surged around them, and the wind wailed above.

  
Ch. 7  
For the 43rd time, Poppy looked out her window at the maelstrom. She should have never ever let that damn stubborn fool go out in this mess. She muttered some choice words at Branch under her breath and wandered back into the kitchen. She checked her phone again. It still had a dial tone. She wondered if maybe Branch’s line was down though. He had said he would call. Surely he would have gotten back by now. He had said he would call. Could he have forgotten? No, that wouldn’t be like Branch at all. Was he mad at her? I mean, sure she’d dragged him through a thunderstorm in the opposite direction from his Bunker, plied him with whiskey, and then tried and failed to flirt with him.

  
Poppy bit her lip. So maybe he was mad at her. Poppy hated the thought of him mad at her. It got under her skin, it made her knees twitch. Of course, maybe he wasn’t mad at her at all, maybe something had happened to him on his hike home, through this horrible storm. With his hair wet he would have limited ways to defend himself, and certainly though the Bergen’s were now their friends, there were other dangerous things that lived in the forest and enjoyed an occasional snack of troll. A particularly strong gust of wind pummeled against the side of her pod, causing it to sway sickly on its tethers. The lights flickered. She checked the phone again, now it was dead. A moment later the lights went out and stayed out for several long moments. She walked back to the window and looked out, she couldn’t see more than a few feet, just the shimmer of rain, blowing almost sideways. Poppy nodded to herself, and put on her hot pink wellies, magenta rain slicker, and hat.

  
Ch. 8  
As time tripped by, Branch thought and planned. He tried to stay focused on just clinging to Guy, to trying to keep his feet moving as they ached with the cold, to saving his strength to try again and again to wrench the silver troll free of the water’s grip. But Branch had always been a planner and his mind framed out every awful scenario in which their current predicament might end, and any possible way to delay what was increasingly seeming like both their inevitable deaths. If the water rose farther up, the tree limb, which was still wedged in the bank and helping to hold Guy in place, would be swept away. He’d lose his grip, Guy would be sucked back out into the river. Would he jump in after him? His body was numb with the cold and exhaustion, could he even swim at this point? He set that thought aside. If the water receded some he might just be able to finally tug Guy out of the water. Then they could crawl up the embankment and make for the village. If the water stayed at about the same level, how much longer could either of them hold on. Hypothermia was a very real risk, somewhere near the back of Branch’s consciousness he could feel a purring, alluring cloud of sleepiness. He dug his frozen toes farther into the river bank willing the pain to keep him sharp, to keep him awake just a bit longer.

  
Poppy walked and sang. It felt like the wind was trying to steal her voice, so she sang even louder. Poppy sang like other people breathed. Often she didn’t even realize she was doing it, the music just sprang from her. It helped her think, it helped her relax, it helped her work, it kept worries and fear at bay.

  
“I’m a walking in the RAAAINNNNN  
tears are falling and I feel the paaaaaaaiiiiiinnn  
A-wishin you were here by me  
To END THIS MISERY  
And I wonder  
I WHA-WHA-WHA WOOOOOONDERRRRRR”

  
Branch knew his time was running out. He was hallucinating. The wind was singing to him. A stupid doo-wop song of all things. Guy seemed to have passed out again and now Branch was holding his weight entirely, his shoulders screaming for release. However cold he was, he couldn’t imagine the state Guy was in. Sparkle trolls by their nature were more resistant to cold than regular trolls, didn’t even need to wear clothes to keep warm, but how much could Guy take, he’d been in the water for how long now? How long had he been hanging on before Branch had even stumbled on him? Branch tried to ignore that Guy’s hands were starting to feel worryingly chilly.

  
The wind kept singing to him.  
“Whyyyyyyy, you ran awayyyyyy  
and I wonderrrr where you will Staaaaaaayyyy!!!!!“

  
Was it, Poppy’s voice?! The water had started to rise again, Branch was starting to convulsively shake with the cold, his grip slipping further and further down Guy’s limp forearm. He knew he would pass out soon, and the water would take them both, and the wind was singing to him in Poppy’s voice. Branch, slowly sinking into the cold mud and gravel, starting to choke on the rain wash streaming down the banks around him, smiled. If this was the end, and he really hated that it seemed to be, at least he’d die with her voice ringing in his ears, singing an upbeat song in the worst of times, classic Poppy. He stared up at the fathomless sky warped with streaking spears of wind driven rain, felt the water rising up his ankles, his shins. He yanked Guy’s arm with the last of his strength, hoping to pull his head above the water line, even if just for a moment more. They’d go down together, 'No Troll Left Behind’… or something like that. Branch closed his eyes and let the wind sing him towards the end.  
"My little runaway run run RUN RUN RUNAWAY!!!!!!”

  
Branch’s eyes snapped open. Was the wind singing..louder? No. NO the voice was getting closer. He wasn’t hallucinating. It was a real voice, it was POPPY.

  
Hoisting himself up on one elbow, the other arm still locked hopelessly on Guy, Branch strained his back and bellowed with everything he was worth, every shred he had left. He didn’t want to die, he didn’t want Guy to die. He wanted, he needed  
"POPPPPPPPPY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!“

  
Branch had pipes. He could sing with the best of trolls, and now that he’d been joining in with the village trolls singing so much more in the last few months, he’d nothing but improved. The wind still swallowed most of his volume, but the shout still reverberating around the glade with promising resonance.

  
The wind, affronted, stopped singing with Poppy’s voice.

  
"POPPY!!!! For god’s sake HELLLPPPP!!!!!”. The last shout, on “help!”, shredded his already raw throat. He must have swallowed half the foul river when he’d been submerged. He choked, rolled, and vomited in the mud and filth that washed around him.  
Even as he retched he dug in the scraped bare heels of his feet to shout once again, but before he found his ragged voice another chimed in, faint and auto tuned, and down near his ankles.  
“Poppy! Help us!!”

  
Guy! Branch couldn’t believe it. The troll was a fighter and then some. Hope glowed inside him, the warmth foreign and blessedly welcome in his frozen body.

  
Together they both shouted, again and again, until suddenly, fifteen feet above the on the lip of the little canyon a voice called down.

  
Ch. 9

“Branch!! WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING RUNNING OUT IN THIS STORM I SWEAR I’M GONNA KILL YOU!!!” Her fury was high, he voice fiery, seething.

  
Branch arched his aching back to look straight up at her. He could swear she was so pissed she was glowing against the stormy silhouette that raged around her. “Hell hath no fury…” Branch mused to himself.

  
"Ok, but first Poppy, please PLEASE can you SAVE US?!“ Branch screamed back at her.

  
Poppy had been skidding down the embankment, leaping rocks and fallen tree branches, but as she got halfway down the incline her bright pink eyes snapped wide, and expression of shock immediately overtaking her scowl as she finally took in desperate tableau on the water’s still rising edge.  
"Oh god! Oh no!!” She gasped, sliding and falling the last few feet to Branch’s side.

  
Neither spoke more. There was no time, no room for words in the ensuing scramble, but together they managed what Branch alone could not. They wrenched Guy free of the water’s swirling grasp and inch by stumbling, shaking inch, they carried his weight up the nearly vertical wall of roots, loose stone, and mud, so. much. mud.

  
One thousand years, or possibly about ten minutes later (Branch had lost track), they finally reached the summit of the valley wall and paused, gasping and heaving for breath. Guy, for his part, keened over and puked all over Branch’s feet, an oddly detached corner of Branch’s brain was surprised to see that even his vomit was shimmering shades of silver sparkle. Bizarre.

  
Branch and Poppy both fell to their knees, Branch wincing and wondering if at this point he had any skin left on his scratched lower legs. Poppy thumped Guy hard on the back as he sputtered weakly.

  
“Just breathe”, Poppy soothed, her voice low and gentle.

  
Branch put a reassuring hand on Guy’s shoulder. “It’s ok, now pal. You made it. You’re tougher than granite! You’re hard as…diamonds…?”  
Branch felt the stupid pun die on his lips as he saw Guy’s whole body begin to convulse. He lunged forward, fear surging back into him with icier claw’s than the river’s grip and then his hands stilled. Guy was shaking… with laughter?“

  
"Hard as diamonds?!!!REALLY?!?!!” Guy lyrical voice was weak but tinged with joy and he laughed, almost silently, the humor rocking his sparkling form.

  
Then Poppy collapsed into giggles too, so they were both sitting in the mud, laughing helplessly.  
Branch arched an eyebrow. “You’re, mad. You’re both raving mad!!”

  
At that Poppy stiffened and turned shockingly hard and (Branch thought to himself) beautiful eyes on him. “Actually, I am mad, I’m mad as rotten squash at you Branch. Do you have any idea how much you scared me. Out here, in this weather. YOU ALMOST DIED!!!” Her freckles sparked against her soft pink skin, her eyes blazed, she grabbed a fistful of Branch’s sodden moss vest and yanked him hard towards her. Her lips were smoldering hot against his frozen mouth, and Branch almost immediately gasped, amazed, and just a little afraid.

  
Poppy pulled away, but just and inch or so, their noses still touching. “If you ever scare me like that again…” She whispered, her breath hot on his face, her threat left open. Branch gaped.

  
So did Guy, though then he puked again, on Poppy’s feet this time. She knelt towards Guy her face full of concern. “We need to get you to the healer. Can you walk?”

  
Guy nodded between retches, and then stood up cautiously. He took a few hesitant steps along the rutted and puddled old track towards the village, then keeled over. Branch caught him heavily with a grunt and Poppy swooped in to help share the weight. Together they lifted Guy and carried him clumsily up the path, the storm buffeting them from every direction. Branch was in a daze, more spent than he’d ever been in all his life, but alive! and so was Guy. And the entire walk, he felt Poppy’s quick, angry kiss still burning on his lips, a single warm spot on his freezing shivering body.

  
Ch. 10  
Progress was unbearably slow, measured in shuffling, bone aching steps. At some point Poppy paused and allowed Guy to rest more on Branch’s side. She shook herself free of her hot pink rain slicker and draped it over Guy’s shoulders. He tried to thank her but his teeth were chattering too hard to get the words out. They kept trudging, huddling closer to Guy, giving him what body warmth they had, though Branch, who felt like a walking iceberg worried that he might be hurting more than helping. The village came into view over the crest of the waterlogged vegetable field.

  
Branch grimaced and kept slogging, he’d never been happier to see the twinkling lights and colorful pods. He tried to pick up the pace but Poppy stumbled and he glanced over to see her, hair soaking wet and dripping down her face. She was shivering hard now too and her eyes had a sleepy, heavy-lidded look to them that he didn’t like one bit. She was biting her lip with stoic determination, but her steps were faltering. He reached his free hand over and gave hers a little squeeze. She looked at him, puzzled for a second and then surprised as he lifted Guy off his feet and onto his shoulder. His entire body groaned in protest but he gritted his teeth and set his eyes on the village. Maybe a quarter mile more. They would make it.  
The were moving quicker now, downhill and with Guy-apparently passed out once more-a dead weight that seemed to pull Branch downward faster than his feet could accommodate. He tripped and slid, Poppy scrambling along at his side. He squinted through the pouring rain. There were torches gathering near the edge of the village.

  
Voices shouted and they heard steps pounding down the road towards them.  
"Poppy!!“  
"Guy!!”  
“Branch???”

  
And then they were surrounded by a kaleidoscopic crush of concerned trolls. Hands reached out, Guy was lifted off Branch’s shoulder. Poppy’s words against the wind, explaining what had happened as her father leaned his ear towards her, his face painted in a mosaic of concern and relief. When she finished the old King looked solemnly at Branch, his eyes appraising but warm, a smile touched his lips and he nodded at him. An old hand clapped against his shoulder with surprising strength, almost making Branch’s knees buckle. “Well done, my boy. Well done.” Peppy said with feeling, and then turned towards the crowd of colorful forms bumping and jostling in the tempest, to summon the healer.

  
Branch felt a blush rising up his neck to his face, stinging where the blood rushed up into his freezing ears. Other trolls were smiling at him too, shaking his hand, slapping him on the back, and to his horror, heaving him into massive group hugs. Then there was a disturbance towards the center of the crowd. Guy Diamond had woken up and wrenched himself free of the the amazed trolls that carried him. He hurled himself at Branch, glittering shards of disco-ball light clad in a hot pink raincoat and fell against him bodily, hugging him solidly. Branch was now blushing so hard he longed for the cooling relief of the icy river. Guy leaned back and grinned at Branch.

  
“You saved my life.”  
“I mean, no problem… no big deal”. Branch scuffed his vomit covered feet and stared at the muddy ground. All the trolls were surrounding them, watching, silent. Even the storm seemed to hold it’s breath.

  
“Thank you Branch. You’re a good troll. There- there aren’t words! You’re a hero!!” Guy smirked. “Oh but so bad at puns. "Hard as diamonds…really?!????” and with that he hugged Branch again, bubbling with laughter, and was led off by the rest of the Snack Pack, all asking him questions at once, shouting to be heard, taking turns to hug him and help support his weight as he limped towards the healer’s pod.

  
Branch watched Guy Diamond’s exit, smiling faintly. He was becoming rather fond of the glitter troll, might even go so far as to call him a friend. As his blush faded the cold sunk back into his tired body with a vengeance. He started shivering and worrying. He couldn’t get back to his bunker with the bridge washed out. He wondered if he might stay in the work shed back up in the vegetable garden. It would be dreadful, but dry. What he truly wanted was a hot shower. He’d shrugged his shoulders and turned to head back the way they’d come when a small soft hand slipped into his and held tight.

  
Ch. 12  
Poppy was SO COLD. Her little blue sun dress was soaked, her hair was drenched, her feet…well they smelled bad. But her face felt hot. The way her father had looked at Branch, and Guy had thanked him, and all the other trolls had rushed up to congratulate him, she thought her heart would burst with pride. She couldn’t help but grin as he blushed and stuttered his way through all the hugs and accolades. Even covered from head to toe in mud (and worse), he was so very beautiful. She felt her heart squeeze tight. But then the crowd was breaking up, running back to their pods to get out of the rain, and Branch was setting his jaw turning on his heels and about to head back up that thrice damned hill. Absolutely not.  
She reached out and caught his hand. She was shivering, he was shivering, and it looked like they were shaking hands. Branch turned as she pulled him towards her, his face blank under the mud.

  
"No offense but…You look like you could use a shower.“ She grinned through cold-clenched teeth.  
Branch stiffened for just a moment, and then his shoulders, hell his entire body, seemed to slump with relief.  
“Yes. please.” He breathed, his eyes brightening.

  
Poppy headed towards her pod, walking straight through the puddles- hoping to rinse off some of poor Guy’s puke-, and leading Branch behind her. He was plodding slowly, and she could all but feel his exhaustion radiating off him in dull waves. She fought a sense of deja vu and clung harder to his big wide hand. He squeezed her little paw back and she felt a weird leap in her stomach, a twist of nerves and excitement. Her pod came into view and they climbed doggedly up the stairs, tumbling through the doorway, the wind whipping at their backs.

  
Sighing with relief Poppy leaned over her potted begonias and tried to wring her hair out a bit, leaving drips and splatters all over the floor. She ignored the puddles and turned to Branch…who looked like a bog monster. He was absolutely filthy. And oh dear, he knew it.

  
Branch was standing awkwardly on her door mat, trying and failing to contain the splats of mud that were dripping off him almost as steadily as the rain outside. He met her eyes, bewildered and started muttering apologies, trying to slink back out the door. Poppy grinned at him fondly, she did love this wonderful troll so very very much.

  
"It’s ok.“ She smiled "Shower’s at the end of the hallway.” she pointed off-handedly.  
Branch looked affronted. “But your carpet!”

  
"…can be cleaned.“ she finished neatly but firmly.  
"Now scoot!” She got behind him and gave him a playful shove. Branch stumbled a little and glanced back at her, a wary smile playing across his face.

  
Ch. 13  
Poppy’s bathroom was not pink, it was a jarring shade of grape. The color set Branch’s chattering teeth on edge, but he saw the massive and well appointed tub and shower and forgot all else. He was carefully stripping off his ruined vest and shorts when a horrifying thought floated up through his foggy head. He had nothing else to wear. He stared down at the filthy heap of cold wet clothes, the idea of putting them back on after his shower set a fresh wave of shivers up his sore naked back. He made a bee line for the shower, deciding to cross that bridge when he got there.

  
The hot water was a god send. After fiddling with the handles a bit to get it set right, Branch all but collapsed against the shower wall, his forehead pressed against the cool stone as the water coursed down his head, shoulders, and back. He never wanted to move, which was fine because at this point he was rather certain he couldn’t move. His body was done. His mind was done. So he closed his eyes and just stood there breathing in deep, humid steadying breaths. Eventually he opened his eyes and watched the streams of muddy water run down his scraped feet and swirl lazily into the drain.

  
The peaceful moment wasn’t to last though. Several pressing thoughts were jockeying for attention at the front of his water logged brain. First, where was he going to sleep that night. He was in Poppy’s pod. Did Poppy want him to stay the night there, or was she just offering him a hot shower before sending him on his merry way. He hoped she’d let him stay, even though the thought of it made his toes curl with jolt of nerves. Next, what the hell was he going to wear when he got out of the shower. There was a stack of purple and pink towels on a table near the door, they looked large and fluffy, but he absolutely could not, would not be sleeping in Poppy’s house in only a towel, though somewhere in the back of his brain, a second thread of thoughts mused over the various interesting ways in which that scenario might play out.

  
Branch huffed and hastily turned to the rows upon rows of shower gels, shampoos, conditioners, bubble baths, salts, and bath bombs that lined every horizontal surface in the shower enclosure to distract himself. It was an astounding array of scents and products, most were strawberry or flowery, most were pink, some, to his horror, seemed to have glitter mixed in. Wondering if Poppy used all of these every day to create the unique and intoxicating scent that followed her everywhere like a gentle breeze, he started searching hopefully for just a plain, straight forward, unscented bar of soap. After a few minutes of fruitless scanning he settled for a bottle of something labeled “Cucumber Melon Shower Gel”. He sniffed it hesitantly. It was almost unbearably sweet, but he supposed at this point anything was better than the muck and mud that was stubbornly clinging to him.  
As he started to scrub he realized with a start that Poppy must still be out there, patiently waiting for her turn in the shower. He hastily finished up, his arms almost too tired to hold above his head to wash and rinse his inky blue hair, and then turned off the tap and hopped out of the shower. He quickly dried off and, wrapping his waist in one of the pink towels, tentatively cracked the bathroom door and called for Poppy. There was no answer. He waited. He tried again, still no answer, but he thought he heard some noises coming from the kitchen. Taking a deep breath, Branch clutched the towel tighter around his waist and padded towards the source of the noise.

  
Poppy was in the kitchen, singing something softly to herself under her breath, while piling a giant plate with frosted pink sugar cookies. Her hair looked clean and almost dry, he couldn’t imagine how she’d managed it, and she was wearing a set of fleece pajamas covered in a raucous, almost eye-watering floral pattern. She looked beautiful in the soft glow of the overhead of the kitchen light. She hadn’t heard him enter so he cleared his throat. Poppy’s eyes shot up, taking him in from the tips of his (thankfully now vomit free) toes, to the towel, his bare chest and shoulders, his shower damp and tousled hair. Her mouth opened slightly and a red hot blush crept up her chest and face. Branch immediately felt a matching blush crawling up his skin.

  
Recovering quickly and bouncing on the balls of her feet, her eyes alight, Poppy grinned cheekily.

“Oooooo pink’s a good color on you!”.  
Branch huffed, “No it’s not.” He said firmly. The blush now an almost painful heat on his face.  
But Poppy was undeterred, “Wow that was a quick shower! I usually take like, an hour or sometimes more!” She put down the last cookie and shoved the platter towards him. “…hungry?”  
“Uh yea, ok.” He grabbed a cookie. “Yea, I thought you might need a shower too, I was trying to make it quick, also, all your hair potions and glitter salt bombs are pretty intimidating, that’s like, a hair product arsenal in there!”

  
Poppy giggled and scooted around the table towards him. “Oh no, I just rinsed my hair in the kitchen sink and toweled off. I’ll do for tonight!” She scrunched her nose as she got closer to him and her eyes crinkled with delight. “Cucumber Melon! Good choice, that’s one of my favorites!!”  
Branch quirked an eyebrow at her and inhaled a second sugar cookie. Generally he didn’t like sweets too much, but these cookies were fantastic, and he was starving. Poppy seemed pleased that he liked her baking, she was grinning almost from pointy ear to pointy ear. And then her eyes moved down his nakedtorso again and he choked on the crumbs of the second cookie.

  
“Ah Poppy, can I sleep on your couch tonight? I mean, if that’s, if that’s a problem I can totally just head back out, I can sleep in the vegetable shed, I’ll fit right in since I already reek of vegetables now.” He knew it was forward to ask but even as the words left his mouth a fresh assault of rain pelted against the kitchen window.

  
Poppy rolled her eyes and put her hand on her quirked hip. “Of COURSE you’re spending the night!! It’s a sleepover!” she bubbled, her delight apparent. “But uh. are you going to wear that, or…?”

  
Branch fidgeted with the edge of the towel. “C-could I borrow something, of yours? Or a sheet, I could, I dunno wear it like a toga?”  
“Oooooo yes! Of course!!” Poppy was already skipping down the hallway past him and towards another door, across from the bathroom, her bedroom he supposed.

  
"Uh nothing too flowery please! Or too pink? or lacey???“ He shouted after her, a pleading edge in his voice. Beggar’s couldn’t be choosers but surely there had to be a limit. He started in on a third cookie but before he could even finish it Poppy was bouncing back towards him, holding a set of folding pajamas out in front of her with more than just a little formality.

  
"I solemnly swear this is my manliest pair of pjs!”. As she stepped close to him to hand the neatly folded stack over he noticed that she smelled just a bit like dish soap, and felt a pang of guilt for having taken so long in the shower. He looked down at the clothes in his hands. They were pink, but a very pale pink, and they had lace, though only on the sleeves and cuffs of the long pants.

  
“Uh thanks. They’re… um. They should work.” Branch said, suddenly realizing Poppy was very close indeed and beaming at him with a mix of amusement and…expectation? He looked back down at the pink pajamas. This was going to be embarrassing, but possibly less embarrassing than just wearing a towel all night. He smiled to show his appreciation at her effort and edged around her towards the bathroom to change.  
The pajamas were very soft, some fancy fabric Branch didn’t recognize. The top was far too small, the lacy cuffs, which he now saw had little blue bowknots as well, bit into his biceps sharply, and he could just barely get it button across his chest. The pants actually fit quite nicely, even if they were just a hair too long. Was Poppy taller than him? he mused. But most wonderfully, the pajamas smelled like Poppy, not current dish soap Poppy, but like regular Poppy, that heady scent that he could never quite conjure up in his imagination, but knew with absolute certainty when ever he came across it. Flowers, and strawberries, fresh and enchanting. He breathed deeply and looked in the mirror. He looked like an ass. Ok then.

  
Squeezing his eyes shut tight for a moment he willed himself back out of the bathroom, tripping a little on the long pants. Poppy’s head shot out from the kitchen doorway. Her eyes went wide. She stepped fully out of the doorway into the hallway. A smile teased across her lips and then she was screwing her face tightly, trying so hard not to give into the peals of laughter threatening to break free from her chest. Branch stopped and looked down at himself. Nothing he could do about it now. They both gave in to a furious bout of giggles. Poppy actually fell to her knees she was laughing so hard.

  
“You look… You look…” She wheezed between convulsions of laughter, her eyes streaming.  
"Like an ass.“ Branch finished for her.  
"Oh come on, it’s not that bad!” She smiled up at him. He walked the rest of the way down the hallway and threw himself down next to her. His eyes crinkled with mirth.

  
“Uh yea, I’m pretty sure it is. It is really that bad.”  
Poppy reached out and fingered the edge of the sleeve cuff where it was already leaving a red welt on Branch’s arm. Branch sucked in his breath at the touch.

  
"You should take the shirt off" she said, her voice low. She batted her eye lashes.  
"Excuse me?!“ Branch froze, then slid back a few inches staring at her in surprise.

  
"It’s too small, you’re gonna rip it, and before you ask, no I don’t have any bigger tops. Just…, just be a big boy about it!”  
Branch grumbled. She was right, of course, the top was threatening to split at the seams. He started to unbutton it, careful not to make eye contact with her as he did so. It took a bit of tugging but he finally got it off and handed it back to Poppy. She tossed it casually over a chair back and stood up, offering a hand down to Branch. He took it and she hefted him back to his feet. They stood for just a second longer than necessary, holding hands, he realized she was maybe just a touch taller than him.

  
“Should we uh, go check on Guy at some point?” Branch asked, breaking the silence that was becoming increasingly electric.

  
“Oh!” Poppy dropped his hand and smacked herself on the forehead. “I forgot to tell you! Cooper swung by when you were in the shower! Guy’s resting, but he’ll be fine. Oh and Cooper told me to give this to you from Guy!” And then she was wrapping her arms around him, and pulling him tightly into a warm hug. Branch felt his heart thudding hard in his chest. “Thank you.” She said, low into his ear. “Now come on, I’ll comb your hair.”  
“Whoa whoa whoa, what??” Branch said stunned, but following Poppy towards the watermelon pink velvet settee, regardless. “I can comb my own hair!”  
Poppy sat primly on the pink sofa and tossed a cushion on the floor in front of her. “Hmmmm, can you? She asked, "I just figured your arms might be a little tired, what with all the hero-ing you’ve done tonight.” She arched an eyebrow at him and pulled a bejeweled hair brush out of a drawer on the side table next to her.

  
Branch looked down at her, emotions warring through him. Nerves, caution, exhaustion, and- becoming rather more vocal- desire. He gave in with a slightly ill tempered grunt, turned his back to her and sat heavily on the fuschia cushion.

  
Ch. 14  
With deft but gentle strokes Poppy set to work on the tangled mass of deep blue strands, and after a few strokes she began to sing quietly. It wasn’t, for once, some fizzy pop song though, it was an old hymn, one Branch hadn’t heard since he was little.

  
'You fill up my senses, like a night in the forest  
like the mountains in spring time  
like a walk in the rain  
like a storm in the desert  
like a sleepy blue ocean  
you fill up my senses  
come fill me a again.’

  
She brushed in time to the slow rhythm of the song, her sweet voice pleasantly soft, and Branch wondered where on earth she learned the tune. Maybe her father? But no, he couldn’t remember ever hearing King Peppy sing. Branch’s thoughts were getting muddled now, and despite his best efforts, his eyelids began to droop.

  
'Come let me love you  
Let me give my life to you  
Let me drown in your laughter  
Let me die in your arms  
Let me lay down beside you  
Let me always be with you  
Come let me love you  
Come love me again’

Sometime later he awoke, groggy and unsure how long he’d been asleep, but he could feel that his hair was now dry, he could also feel the comfortable warmth of Poppy seated behind him, and though his hair seemed fully combed, she was now running her fingers up along his scalp and through his dark locks. The rain still rattled outside, but the wind had died down. Branch could have sat like that, frozen in this perfect moment till the end of time, so quiet and so close, except that Poppy’s left knee was starting to dig a rather unpleasant knot into his shoulder blade.

Reluctantly and with much strained complaint from his dead tired muscles, Branch slowly stood and turned. Poppy stayed seated, but looked up at him with lidded eyes, a smile teased at her lips and she patted the cushion next to her. Branch happily accepted the invitation, sinking into the squashy couch, and, a bit to his surprise, Poppy folded into him, her warmth, her scent, and her arms encompassing him entirely. She nuzzled into the crook between his neck and shoulder and sighed deeply, then began to shake. Startled Branch tried to pull back but Poppy held tight, merely giggling “Cucumber Melon” against his skin.

  
Branch couldn’t help but laugh. That was always the way with Poppy, her good humor was catching. He dipped his head to rest his cheek against her silky pink hair, and muttered, “I’m going to bring you some proper soap, all this cinnamon cupcake, and and.. strawberry bubblegum nonsense, it’s amazing you don’t attract ants”

  
“Mmmmmm”, Poppy hummed back, face still buried against his neck, and suddenly feeling rather hotter, “Bringing your own soap over, then? And a tooth brush too, I suppose? Might as well bring over some proper pajamas while you’re at it”.  
Branch paused, her meaning sinking in *oh…*

  
Prompted by his silence, Poppy leaned back from him, speculatively gauging his reaction. She was blushing he saw. He realized he was too. She raised both eyebrows at him, then boldly marched forward. “I’d like that, you know, if…If you stayed over from time to time.” Her voice lifted hopefully at the end, the question clear.

  
Poppy’s eyes were sparkling, pink with flecks of amber, and brimming with happiness, encouragement, and maybe something a bit more…mischievous. Branch felt a smile tugging at his own lips. All told, It had been an odd day. He smelled like a fruit basket, he was wearing pink frilled pajama bottoms, and he was curled up with this girl he loved entirely. She was as irresistible as the tides. So to answer her half-asked question, he gently took her soft sparkle-freckled cheek in his hand, and kissed her properly. It rained all the rest of the night, but they were both too busy to notice.

  
******  
Poppy’s angry at Branch, walking through the rain song is ‘Runaway’ by Del Shannon  
Poppy’s combing Branch’s pretty hair song is ‘Annie’s Song’ by John Denver


End file.
